


What once was, what will never be

by PrincexRaven



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Elf Sportacus (LazyTown), Ella is a real person who inspired the doll Rotenella, F/M, Fae Glanni Glæpur, Fae Robbie Rotten, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Polyamory, SOLLA IS AN ADULT IN THIS, convoluted timeline, glanni and robbie are not related, higher fae au, im sorry for everything, robyn is robbie rotten's real name, the "present" part in this is a decade after Latibæ, there will be mature content, this is gonna be long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexRaven/pseuds/PrincexRaven
Summary: Robyn doesn't know who his mother is. He doesn't know who he is, for that matter. Finding a strange creature in the woods might unlock the secrets of his past, but when that leads to falling in love, his only refuge may be destroyed.Robbie Rotten is the grumpiest, grouchiest, most do-no-gooder in all of Lazytown. But does anybody know why he is really like this? Once a stranger comes into town and starts digging up secrets from decades ago, Robbie and Lazytown might not be safe anymore...





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chaptered fic for this fandom! Don't know when I will be able to update but will try to keep a schedule. Hope you enjoy this because it's my baby!

**_Then_**

Robyn was cold. He’d learned to accept that fact, in the year that he’d been living in the woods near the village. Just like he’d learned to be afraid, alert, at any snap of a twig or rustle of branches, for a wild animal or worse, a human. He’d spent many nights being cold, and wet, and afraid, and many days without sleeping, and the one thing he’d never grown accustomed to was the hunger, the scavenging for whatever he could find. He could remember himself as a plump child, and he’d seen himself as a cute chubby newborn in the photographs his father had. He tried not to think of food, or of home, or of his father these days.

Just of hiding, of surviving. Of being fast enough, agile enough, quick enough in hiding. Of finding some food one day or other, even if it was just every few days.  
So, now Robyn was cold. And hungry. And wet. And afraid. He slunk back against the trunk of a tree, buried his face in his hands and started to cry, his tears mixing with the pouring rain.

He was grateful he could not see his reflection, because he knew just what would be staring back at him; the creature that had been cast out of his village, the one with bright-burning metallic eyes and pointed double fangs that scraped at his lips, the one whose nails had turned a bright purple from day to night and whose veins glowed, the one who had ripped apart at the seams and grown those monstrous things on his back. He did not know what had happened, suddenly and overnight, on his thirteenth birthday. He only knew he could not call himself human anymore, and had to hide, and was cast out without a second thought. Gone from being everyone’s ward and pitiful little orphan to monster in the span of a night.

‘Are you lost, little Robyn? Why do you cry?’ a voice that sounded like liquid silver called out to him.

He shrieked and pressed further against the tree, eyes widening to take in someone, in one of the lower branches of a different tree in front of him, long legs sheathed in black and finished in high-heeled, steel-toed boots swinging amusedly. He shrieked even louder and shriller when he realized whose face he was staring at.  
‘Yes, yes, very impressive, I know’ the silver-voiced creature laughed, revealing a set of double fangs identical to his own. As was not surprising, because everything else about him was also identical to Robyn, from the mercury-colored metallic eyes to the cutting line of cheekbones and jaw to his slightly crooked nose to the way his brow furrowed and his long inky lashes and thick, perfectly drawn eyebrows. Only his hair seemed to be a little shorter than Robyn’s, straight and very carefully mussed, and only then did he realize that the rain was not falling on this strange creature.

‘It is not a trick, you know. I could use them if I wanted, but this is what I really look like. Or, wait’ he added with a click of his fingers, ‘this is more precisely what I look like’.  
He seemed to grow a couple of years older, taller, his face sharper, his fangs slightly pointier, the mercury of his eyes swirling around some pink pupils, his sclera black, his nails longer and also a gorgeous shade of polished black with little speckles of pink, the same pink his veins were faintly glowing in, and from his back, a pair of black-and-pink butterfly wings had sprouted seemingly from nowhere.

But all in all, he was still too similar to Robyn for his comfort.

‘It’s called “mirror-spriting”’ the creature said, very gently. ‘Not a common phenomenon, but it happens. Your mother and mine were from the same clan and very close. Both our fathers were not Fae like them. Everyone was all the more surprised when it happened two years after I was born, but, as you have it. I’m the closest thing to family you’ll ever have, little Robyn. And I have been searching for you’.

Robyn stifled a cry.

‘You knew my mother?’

‘Briefly’ Silver-voice replied, staring back at Robyn with his own mercury eyes. ‘Before she died’. He added softly, with a flutter of his wings that sent a rain of subtle sparkle down his person. Robyn had never considered his own wings (because that’s what they were, wings) beautiful, but this creature that looked like him wore his in-humanity with pride and it certainly did look beautiful on him. Robyn sighed softly and felt a familiar burn as he blinked, and he knew how he looked now, the little glamour he managed to learn on his own gone, his sclera a bright purple, his irises the same bright metallic silver as his… mirror-sprite?, and the pupil a bright golden dot in the middle of it all. His own wings, purple and deep red and orange, shimmered under the rain, and as he opened his mouth to ask you could see the set of double-fangs.  
The creature was in front of him in one swift, fluid movement, and took Robyn’s hand in one identical to it, spindly and spidery and brittle, save for the color of the nails –Robyn’s were bright, royal purple, with speckles of gold. The glow on his veins, in his inner wrist, was purple where the creature’s was pink.  
‘See’ it explained, or he explained, before Robyn asked ‘we are identical except for the things related to our magic. Our mothers were mirror-sprites too, so it would only make sense their children would be. They were always together, except for when my mother fell pregnant. See, a Clan can forgive a tryst with a human, so as long as my mother managed to hide what I was, they did not cast her out. And then your mother committed the same mistake, when I was a baby, and when I was two, you were born. My very own mirror-sprite, and with what wonder I looked upon your silver eyes and black curls and hoped I would soon have a playmate. But your mother had already… made a few missteps with the Clan. So they gave her a choice. Cast out your half-human child, or be cast out with him. She gave you to your father, and I was lonely for the longest time… she died shortly after. Apparently, she had formed a bond with you, and it does not do well for Fae to be separated from what they’ve bonded with. Your human half spared you her destiny, but you must remember having been very sick as a child…’

Robyn indeed had. But there was a question burning on his tongue, more than the mourning for a mother he’d never known.

‘Fae? Is that what you… what I… what we are?’

‘Half-fae, both you and I’ the creature replied. ‘By the way, it is very rude for me to have found out your name, without giving you mine’ he added, smiling in a way that made Robyn’s head spin, and says: ‘Glanni. My name is Glanni’.


	2. Not A Ghost From The Past

**_Now_ **

 

Robbie Rotten stretched and yawned, accompanied by the sounds of several pops and cracks from his maltreated spine. Really, he supposed sleeping in a chair wasn’t doing him any good, but that sounded like something Sportanut would say and he wouldn’t stand for that, no sir-ee. He went and made himself a mug of hot chocolate and cut himself a slice of cake for breakfast, before noticing how quiet it was.

Unusually quiet.

Well, maybe he’d managed to sleep through the day and wake up at night, and now everybody was in turn sleeping and leaving him in peace. It happened, sometimes. Well, he’d check later. For now, there was cake to eat and hot chocolate that couldn’t be allowed to go cold.

Robbie sat back in his chair and dug into the delicious, sweet, spongy blue velvet cake. Really, why would anyone want to eat anything other than this? 

Berries, a little voice in the back of his head he’d thought he’d suffocated years ago said. Strawberries and blackberries and blueberries and those cherries that were almost black…

‘Shut up’ Robbie growled, and drowned the voice with another forkful of cake. Really, what was with him today?

 

When he finished his plate and his mug, he decided to take a look around in his periscope, just to check the town. Nighttime was the most beautiful after all.

He made his way over to the periscope and… froze.

It was day. A bright, sunny day, and yet none of the children were making a ruckus, and Sportaflop was nowhere to be seen. Neither were the children, in fact. Perhaps they had decided to go to the beach again? He looked around once more and found the children, yet no Sportaflop; they were all crowded around a low wall, staring at something in awe, and the something they were staring at, the something perched on the wall, was…

No.

Oh, fuck no.

Robbie’s blood chilled in his veins. It was impossible, a nightmare from his past, a bad dream he was sure he would wake up from, a ghost. His fingers traced over the side of his hip, above his bone, where the mark had rotten and infected and turned into agonizing pain that kept him awake at night, and that mark told him it was true.  
Robbie got dressed in a whirl and sprinted towards the wall he had last seen the children at.

 

***************************************************

 

He was out of breath, naturally, by the time he approached it, and hid in a convenient bush to hear what was being said.

‘Robbie Rotten used to like fruit?’ Tricky was saying, with a scrunched up nose and an expression of disbelief, and Robbie gasped in horror as he heard the voice reply:

‘Yes, of course! He was still picky about it, but oh, how he loved his berries. He would just laze about all day in the garden gorging on them, showing me how the blueberries and blackberries tinted his tongue blue, or how gorgeously red the raspberries and strawberries made his lips, with shimmering dust on his cheeks and flowers on his curls…’

There was a dreamy, longing tone to the voice, that brought a pang of hurt with it that Robbie had not been expected, and another one of the children, wide-eyed and blonde, asked:

‘Robbie has curly hair?’

‘Mm-hm’ the voice hummed, and Robbie was frozen in place, staring, listening, horrified but unable to move.

‘You, pink child’ the voice, a voice like silver, said.

‘My name is Stephanie’, she replied, and Robbie groaned. How could one be so stupid? Stupid enough to go telling your name to strangers that could be, that are…

‘I’m sure’ the voice continued ‘that you are interested in love. Can you imagine Robbie Rotten being able to love?’

Robbie gaped in pure dread, but there was no time for Stephanie to answer as the voice droned on:

‘Xer name was Raeven, and xe was the kind of Fae that you humans cannot classify. Such terms as “man” or “woman” were of no importance to xer. Xe was Robbie’s Sun and his Moon; any and all life revolved around xer.

Xer hair was black but it had ripples of blue, of silver, of gold, of purple, when the moonlight or the sunlight or the candlelight hit it. It cascaded in waves down xer back, covering shoulderblades so sharp they looked as if they might sprout another pair of wings and five vertebrae on xer neck and spine like beads on a rosary and the sunken line of her spine further down xer back. Xer eyes were opalescent, somehow both silver and amber and iridescent at the same time, and xer golden skin had a soft glow and the same reassuring presence of the firmness of the Earth herself. Xer fingers were long and delicate and brittle, with nails as black and glimmering as xer hair, little dancing spots of sparkling color inside the black. Xer wings were like gossamer, xer full height, all the colors you can possibly imagine into delicate silver tendrils. Xe had a voice like the murmur of water, like velvet, like honey, like glass, like light, and it came from lips red and ripe and wet as a pomegranate slashed in half or burst with summer heat, and xer black lashes were velvet that shadowed cheekbones sculpted in stone and we were both young and we loved xer with a love that only immortals can comprehend. And xe, Raeven, the beautiful, the desired, the most powerful Fae in court aside from the very Queen, saw little half-blood Robyn Glæpur and the one who took him in, a mongrel with succubus blood in him, a hybrid, a little monster who was looked down in Court and stole from humans for revenge and a living, and xe saw something deserving of being loved. Oh, and how happy we were, in that one little cottage next to a welcoming forest, under the roses in our garden and with enough confections to last the lifetime of a Fae, having nothing but fun all the time, and how xe understood us, what each of us needed’. The voice recounted, dreamily, and Robbie was utterly mortified because now his real name and status were exposed to the world, but he was so frozen by fear there was nothing he could do, but how dare he speak about xer after all this time, after all that had happened, how dare he speak about Raeven and if he was frozen before his blood was boiling now, and he stood up violently just in time to hear all the dreaminess turn into venom as the voice said:

‘And you humans had to take xer away from us’.

‘Enough!!’ Robbie yelled, stalking towards him, not a bad dream, not a ghost, not an apparition, clad in black leather and swinging his long legs amusedly, just like on a tree branch, staring at him with his own glamoured silver eyes, surrounded by a gaggle of frightened children.

‘Oh, Robyn’ he said, delighted, sweetly poisonous. ‘It is you at last’.

Robbie was seething. He wanted to wrap his hands around the other’s neck and strangle him for daring to put xer name on his tongue, for daring to remind him of xer, but all he could spit was

‘Hello, Glanni’.


	3. The Garden

_**Then** _

 

Robyn was pretty sure he’d roamed through the entire forest, yet he had never encountered this place. He felt a subtle barrier give way under him when Glanni held his hand, and there it was. A splendent garden, bursting full of roses in any color one could imagine, peonies, dahlias, bluebells, lilacs, hydrangeas, a weeping willow whose canopy of branches touched the floor, bushes heavy with ripe fruit not proper for the season, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and there was a white and pink cherry tree that somehow had at the same time flowers and fruits, of a red so dark it was al-most black; a little pond with golden and silvery fishes swimming around, and the most enchanting fairy-house in the middle of it all, with its colorful walls and whimsical shapes. Robyn was breathless and his mouth agape as he took in the beauty of it all, and Glanni grinned ear to ear.

‘This is ours. Yours, too, now, if you want it’ he said softly, leaning into the boy’s ear.

Before Robyn could ask why he had said “ours”, a purple-clad figure came zooming out of the house, smiling as wide as Glanni, and wrapped her pale arms around his waist.

‘You’re back! Oh, Glanni, I have been so lonely’, the child pouted, and Robyn realized that that’s what she was, a child, maybe two years younger than him or so, with silky straight, inky black hair that reached her shoulders, incredibly pale skin, delicate features, a heart-shaped berry red mouth and the same mesmerizing but hu-man grey eyes Glanni had when in his glamour. She wore a flowy purple dress that almost reached the floor and was barefoot. Hard as he tried, Robyn could not sense a glamour about her, but she had no wings, no fairy eyes, no glowing veins. If she had not looked so much like Glanni, he might have thought she was a changeling. He as-sumed she was half-fae, like them, and had not yet Changed.

‘Robyn, this is Ella, my sister’ Glanni said, smiling and patting the child’s head. Ella turned her head around and scanned Robyn with her piercing grey eyes. In a split second, she directed to him the same blinding smile that she had for her brother, and started laughing with a sound that was like silver bells or water in a creek.

‘Oh, Glanni, you found him!’ she exclaimed, and briefly unlaced her arms from her brother’s slender waist to hug Robyn in turn. He flinched, more used to brutality than to fondness, but Ella seemed genuinely delighted to have him there. She directed those eyes to him again. ‘Glanni has been searching for you since he could sense your Change, and you were… where was he, Glanni?’

‘In the forest’ Glanni replied somberly. ‘His village cast him out, as we expected. I never thought he would stay so close to the very people who wanted him dead’.

‘Wait’ Robyn said, genuinely confused, ‘aren’t we in the forest right now?’

Glanni and Ella laughed again. They had the same laugh, that laugh that reminded Robbie of silver bells.

‘We’re in our own bubble, little Robyn’ Glanni explained gently, placing a hand upon his shoulder. ‘I created it and can access it from anywhere, and so can Ella. It is separate from time and space. It is nowhere and everywhere at once, and time here passes as I please, though we age as normal. That I can’t control’.

Robyn stared, wide-eyed, at Glanni. He knew beings like him had magic, but this level of skill was baffling to him. Just how much older was Glanni than him any-way?  
When he voiced the question out loud, Glanni replied that he was sixteen, and Ella was twelve. He, however, had been living in the Court until his Change, so he had learnt more about magic and this part of his heritage than Robbie ever had. When he Changed and the Court cast him out, he took Ella with him, and created a perfect world away from those who would wish them harm.

‘I don’t understand’ said Robyn suddenly. ‘You said the Court sometimes forgives a tryst with a human. Why did they cast you out?’

Glanni’s eyes darkened, molten silver turning poisonous mercury.

‘When I Changed, they found out what I am. I did not want the same happening to Ella’.  
Robyn just stared at him, bewildered.

‘My father’ Glanni said softly ‘was not human like yours was. He was not Fae either. They considered me a danger’.

Robyn understood to ask no further questions.

Glanni clapped his hands and his cheerful pointy smile returned. ‘That’s enough sad talk for today, my dear Robyn. There are some things we need to fix, but first, tell me: do you want to stay with us?’

Robyn mulled over it for only a second. Glanni could be lying, and this could be all a trick. But the idea of leaving such a lovely place, where they seemed to want him, to go back to starving in the forest and being afraid all the time…

‘Yes’ Robyn said, softly but determined. ‘Yes, I want to stay’.

Glanni’s smile widened into a grin, putting one of his arms around Robyn’s shoulders, and Ella squealed in delight. ‘Well then cupcake’ Glanni said ‘first give me the palm of both of your hands’.

Robbie did as he was told, and Glanni took them gently in his own. Soft spirals of smoke and light, in all the colors of the rainbow, quickly engulfed them both until about their wrists. Robyn felt a warm, tickling sensation, somewhat loaded with electricity, and then the colors dissolved in a vapor. 

‘There’ Glanni said, looking very pleased with himself.

‘What did you do?’ Robyn asked, turning his hands every which way and examining them, finding nothing weird.

‘Give you a key’ Glanni gestured around. ‘Now you can enter the bubble from wherever you are, and leave it whenever you please’ he explained. Robbie could feel something warm bubbling in his chest. Glanni had been searching for him, Glanni had let him into his private world and he’d let him come and go as he pleased. 

Before he could properly thank him, however, he found himself whirling in a similar spiral-net of colors as his hands had before. When he stopped spinning, he found that he was warm, and dry, and dressed in a nice, soft purple sweater with cut-outs for his wings, and some black leggings. Glanni had hesitated in giving him heels similar to his own, opting instead for ballet shoes in the same shade of purple.

‘Now’ he said to the awed Robyn ‘I believe all that’s left is to feed you. You've been hungry for too long’.

Glanni hooked his arm around one of Robyn’s, Ella around the other, and they led him into the fairy-house, where he could gorge in all the sweets he wanted and warm himself up with honeyed milk. Glanni eventually arranged a sort of nest for him with as many pillows and blankets as he could gather. Full, warm and content, Robyn’s last thought before drifting asleep were of Glanni, Ella and him becoming a happy family. He _would_ be happy here. He was sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I'm sure everything is gonna be perfectly fine


	4. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry this took me so long to update!! Life has been really sucky lately, and I didn't even notice how time slipped away from my hands. The next chapter should be up in a week or so! Thank you so much to those of you who are still reading.
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains mentions of underage sex (NOT pedophilia, two teenagers having sex). It's not explicit, but I thought I'd warn in case anyone is uncomfy. Hope you enjoy!!

**_Then_ **

 

For the first few months, it really, really seemed like something, for once in Robyn’s life, was alright.

He played games with Ella, chased her around the garden, played hide-and-seek in the bushes, asked Glanni for a big tree inside the bubble and spent days working on a treehouse. Sometimes Glanni joined them, and then it was all the more fun. Glanni taught him how to fly, how to hone his magic. He could eat the sweetest fruit on Earth _(Who knows upon which soil they fed/their hungry, thirsty roots?)_ and confectioneries until his pale stomach bulged, where just days (and then weeks, and then months) before he’d had to constantly wonder when and if he was getting his next meal. He had his own room, now, bright orange fading into a deep purple dotted with silver and gold stars, like the most beautiful sunset, and a comfy, furry nest in the middle of it –Glanni had made sure he’d love it.

If only he had noticed.

The lingering touches, the longing in those silver eyes.

What he did notice, though, was how _his own_ chest fluttered when Glanni leaned in close to him during a lesson, how his stomach seemed to go up in knots at his sharkish grin when he got a spell right, how the flush on his face when they raced on the sky and he could see Glanni in his full glory was not just from the exertion of flying. And he knew it was a bad idea, falling in love like a fool with someone he was supposed to love like a brother, but he just _couldn’t help it_. Glanni was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, Glanni was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, the smartest, the wittiest, with that dry humor that made him laugh until there were tears in his eyes and that laugh that sounded like water over silver. He felt bad for Ella, because even as she was her most constant playmate and companion he couldn’t bring himself to care about the pale, spidery, brittle child like he cared about her brother, and there was this guilt and remorse eating at him but also this love blooming and bursting in his heart and he loved and he loved and he loved, every smile, every mean joke, every time Glanni swept the hair that had gotten too long back over his forehead so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes, every casual gesture, and it burned, bright and loud like a firecracker, threatening to crack his ribs.

Oh, if only he had noticed.

************************************************************************************************************************************  
It was October, and Robyn’s birthday was fast approaching, and he couldn’t wait to see what the siblings had in store for him.

A feast, it seemed. Robyn had never before seen a croquembouche in his life, Glanni had to guide him over the foreign syllables, but that didn’t stop him from tearing pieces of it and stuffing his mouth full, and there were macarons, and chocolate éclairs, and delicate petit-fours, and his favorite cake –chocolate with strawberries– and they sang and danced and laughed and ate to their hearts’ content, and really, Robyn had never been happier in his life. Ella had knitted him a new sweater, since the one he’d gotten when he moved in had not survived his last growth spurt (it was part of his nest, now), in that same shade of rich purple he so favored, and Glanni had gotten him makeup from god knows where, when he ventured out of the bubble. Robyn knew he could leave, if he wanted to, he just didn’t. Why would he, when everything he wanted was right there?

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

Ella had since long gone to bed, and Robyn was sprawled out on the grass in his incredibly soft new sweater, watching the stars twinkle above, not wanting this day, this night, to ever end.

He heard the soft footsteps before Glanni came into his field of vision, stunning in a black lace tank top and silk evening jacket, leather pants and staggeringly high heels on his suede calf-high boots –purple, a concession to the birthday boy. He had only recently turned seventeen, and he was beautiful, more so than ever, even if his wings were folded taut against his back. The black, glittery eyeshadow he wore made his eyes look like tiny moons of their own. Glanni was a universe, and Robyn was breathless in his presence, even as his rational mind told him that they looked the same. It simply couldn’t be. He briefly wondered if it was arrogance, having fallen in love with his mirror-sprite, conceit, egomania. Incest, maybe? But none of those things seemed right. And now, looking at Glanni at his most gorgeous, he could not find the resemblance between them.

‘So, how does it feel to be fifteen?’ Glanni casually asked, plopping down on the grass next to him, mile-long legs artfully folded. ‘It was pretty uneventful for me, but then, I only had Ella, and I knew I needed you to be complete’ he murmured, and trailed his hand along the grass until it was resting on top of Robyn’s. Robyn’s breath hitched, and he turned to look at the pink sparks in the polished black instead of at the stars –who needed the night sky, when Glanni was right there, on Earth?

‘It’s been wonderful’ he sleepily mused. ‘I’ve never had a birthday like this, not even when my father was alive. I think he resented me, you know, for my mother. I never knew why’ he trailed off, and suddenly the fingers on Glanni’s other hand were carding through his curls, gentle and delicate like he never was, except with Ella and him. He wasn’t stupid –he’d seen Glanni come back to the bubble bruised and bloody and triumphant, holding some jewel or trinket or other, and he knew most of the blood wasn’t his, he knew Glanni did things outside their perfect little world that could be considered unsavory, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

‘Yes, you’ve told me’ he replied softly.

He was suddenly much closer to Robyn than he remembered, leaning down on him, whispering an inch away from his face, and Robyn had to force himself to listen, lost in the ethereal beauty of Glanni’s face.

‘I have a present for you that I didn’t want Ella to see, you know’ he muttered, his voice low and husky. ‘I’ve been holding back, but you’re all grown up, now’ he added, softly, and suddenly, before Robyn could even process it, Glanni was kissing him. His mouth parted in surprise and Glanni sneaked his tongue in, caressing and exploring and Robyn closed his eyes, pulled Glanni closer to him, grasped the back of his silk jacket like a lifeline, forgot how to breathe when he felt the warmth of Glanni’s almost-bare chest pressing against his own, one leather-clad leg at each side of his hips, pressed close to where he could feel the ridge of his sharp hipbones digging into his thighs, his hand now firmly yanking on his hair, and everything was too much and too wonderful and he was about to pass out when Glanni pulled back.

‘Is this going too far? Want me to do more?’ Glanni asked, voice an octave lower than normal, chest heaving against his own, his hand leaving Robyn’s hand to rake up his sweater, but doing nothing more than laying his warm palm flat against the planes of his stomach.

‘More’ Robyn replied, trembling but sure, still grasping Glanni close, and Glanni obliged, right there on the grass, the entire night seeming to slip away from them.  
When dawn started coloring the sky rosy and orange, Robyn was panting for air while Glanni nuzzled his shoulder and he made an effort to tug his leggings –vinyl, for the occasion, Glanni had insisted– back up over his crotch. Glanni had been wearing maroon lipstick, which was all over Robyn now, and he quickly decided it was his new favorite color, along with purple.

‘Let’s go inside’ he murmured, half-asleep. ‘I’m cold’.

Glanni helped him up by his hands and tucked him into his nest before going to his own –he would have wanted him to stay, but at the same time, he knew neither of them wanted Ella to notice, because she might feel left out or cast out or something equally as horrible.

So Robyn slept alone, nuzzling a random piece of Glanni’s clothing to his face (Glanni the magpie was not the only one who could steal, thank you very much).

And he still, still hadn’t noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's wondering, I picture teenage Glanni's hair to be styled like in that one video of Stefán with the blue dress.


	5. What's in a name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently the time I had this fic abandoned has come back to bite me in the butt and now I cannot stop writing it. Hope you guys enjoy!

_**???????????** _

 

There were a few instants, before the adrenaline kicked in, where all Felicity could do was think of how striking the sight before her was. She’d been attracted to the clearing by the faint red and silver glow between the trees, and now she was, while well aware, unable to stop gawking. 

The girl was pale as moonlight, eyes deep violet and silver, her puce tunic flowing around her in the wind and accentuating the pallor of her creamy skin. Her lips were red as blood, and her hair, long to her waist and haloing her, was black as night, with a violet sheen to it. Her wings, purple like puce tincture and red like the fire of a sunset and black like raven’s wings, were splayed under her where she lay. Her beautiful chest heaved with her labored breathing, and she was casting the glow that had brought Felicity here. 

‘H-help me…’ she called, extending a delicate hand with black pointed nails toward her, and Felicity broke out of her daze and noticed what had escaped her.

The blood. Stark red against the snow, like the girl’s lips, like her wings, flowing between her slim long legs.

‘Dear god’ Felicity gasped, and ran towards the fae-girl’s side, trying to check for injuries. ‘What happened to you, darling?’

She couldn’t answer, her bright eyes rolling white into her head as said head lolled back and a shriek of pain escaped her parted lips. Felicity’s roaming hands laid right over the bump in her abdomen that the tunic tried to conceal, and she immediately cradled the girl in her arms and headed off towards her house.

‘Henry!’ she yelled, kicking the door open. ‘Kindle the fire, prepare towels and rags, and boil water!’

Her somewhat startled husband obeyed quickly as soon as he saw the heaving bundle in his wife’s arms. In these situations, she was the one who knew what to do.  
Felicity, meanwhile, had set the girl on the bed and rolled her tunic up and away –there was no underwear to get in the way, thank goodness. This girl looked too young, terribly young, and the amount of blood indicated something was wrong, but she had been a midwife for nigh on thirty years, now, and she was going to save her _and her baby_.  
The labor was long and extremely painful. The unnamed girl drifted in and out of consciousness, gripping the sheets and yelling in pain when she was able, a sheen of sweat covering her entire body. Felicity held her legs the correct way all the while, waited for when she would have to push, while Henry wiped off the sweat, boiled rags and tried to have her drink water when she could.

Suddenly, at the crack of dawn, the girl’s spine stiffened and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wild with pain and panic. She let out a long, drawn out wail of pain, and pushed as if on instinct. Henry held her and Felicity maneuvered between her legs, and it took not much more time for her to have the child in her hands. The bad part was that as soon as the baby was delivered, the girl slumped as if lifeless, completely drenched, and Felicity had to get the placenta out herself. It was not a pleasant process, but she was *not* letting this girl die. The baby was perfectly alright, and he needed a mother.

They had to move her to clean the bed of blood and fluids, replace the sheets, wipe her down. Then they placed her on the freshly made bed and let her rest.  
The girl slept for two days, muttering jumbled names in her sleep as she had during her labor. Felicity couldn’t make them out, nor did she wish to pry. Thankfully, she stayed still enough that, with a little help from the midwife, her son could be fed.

At dawn the third day, they heard muffled cries coming from the bundle of blankets. Felicity bolted over there, only to find her alive and well, just awake and crying.

She spared Felicity one bloodshot glance. 

‘Who are you? Where am I? M-my…’

‘My name is Felicity Goodwill, and that over there is my husband Henry. You’re at our home, just on the edge of the forest. As for your son, he is quite alright, just sleeping’. Felicity answered gently.

‘My son’ she murmured. ‘I had… I had a son’.

‘Yes, you did. What is your name, child?’

How the girl’s lower lip quivered as she answered did not escape Felicity’s notice.

‘Morgana.’

Felicity sat at the edge of the bed and gently carded her fingers through "Morgana’s" hair. She knew the girl was lying –no Fae would name their child Morgana, just like they wouldn’t name them Maeve or Titania. It was just a matter of respect. But it was the name a seemingly banished girl had chosen for herself, and so she said nothing.

‘How old are you? I know your kind always look unnaturally young, but you… you seem nothing more than a child, to me. Maybe I am an old woman’ the midwife chuckled, but the look on Morgana’s eyes turned somber. ‘I am going to be fifteen’ she responded, her fingers clutching the edge of the comforter. Felicity was horrified. So she _was_ a child, after all, and she’d just had a baby. If she hadn’t found her, both her and her son would have died, either during the labor or in the snow. Before she could ask anything else, the girl interjected. 

‘You said “my kind”. Is my glamour broken?’

‘Don’t think you had the strength to keep it up, Morgana. You were dying when I found you’.

‘Yes, in the… in the forest. I could not keep walking any longer. Are you not afraid of me?’

‘Why would I be? I’ve lived in this forest since I was born; you’re not the first Fae I see, not even the first one I’ve helped. You are just a child that was in danger’, the midwife countered, stern but sweet. ‘Would you like to see your son?’

Morgana mutely nodded as the tiny thing was handed to her, black hair already forming coils atop his head, his eyes unmistakably grey.

‘What are you going to name him?’ Felicity asked, curiously.

‘Mordred’ Morgana responded without even a hint of hesitation, which further confirmed Felicity’s suspicions. Morgana and Mordred, betrayed and banished and yet deathly powerful. It probably suited them. It also meant the child’s father was not in the picture, as she could have probably guessed with a mother so young.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The months progressed. Morgana recovered, and Mordred grew happy and healthy and incredibly smart, as a Fae child is wont to be. As soon as she was strong enough, Morgana had glamoured Felicity and Henry so they would never speak of her or her child to other humans or Fae, but worry still gnawed at her. She was stronger every day –overflowing with a power she had barely known she had, and that she honed sitting in the grass behind the little wooden house, while watching her son play in it. She embraced her heritage as _he_ hadn’t. And one day, she knew it was time for them to leave.

Felicity and her were sharing pastries over some steaming chamomile and looking out the window to the grass where Henry was playing with Mordred, throwing him up in the air and seeing for how long he would levitate before falling back into his arms. Morgana’s gaze had grown forlorn, and Felicity couldn’t help but notice.

‘What is wrong, darling?’ she asked, placing a work-roughed hand on top of Morgana’s exquisite, silky, spidery one.

‘I’m afraid it’s time for us to leave’ Morgana answered, standing up. Felicity had made her a new tunic, even if puce dye was incredibly expensive, and it covered her longer, stronger body down to her feet. Mordred would soon be two years old. This couldn’t go on.

The human woman seemed confused, and Morgana bit her lip. Felicity had saved her life, clothed and bathed and fed and nursed her back to health, offered her a home, out of the goodness in her heart. Could she really not get away with a stronger glamour, with a Deal, maybe? Was this really how she was going to repay her kindness?

_“Yes”_ the dark, dark thing inside her whispered. _“How was your kindness, your love, repaid? This is the world we live in, child. The world that split you apart and would see you and your son dead. This is what you must do”_ ; the dark thing said, and Morgana’s vision clouded.

Before Felicity could open her mouth, Morgana raised her hand and made a swift flicking movement with her wrist. 

Felicity slumped. She was dead before her body touched the floor. 

Without sparing her a second glance, Morgana let herself out in the garden. Henry waved at her and Mordred ran to cling at the bottom of her tunic, screaming “Mother, Mother!”. Henry’s smile was so bright she almost felt pity for him. Almost. 

‘Watch closely, Mordred’ she instructed, picking him up, and flicked her wrist and hand again. This time, she could see the light go out from Henry’s eyes as he collapsed. Mordred regarded his mother with nothing more than curiosity. 

‘Why did you do that, Mother? They were nice to us’ he asked, with no sadness in his tone. Good. 

‘It needed to be done’ she answered simply. ‘This is your first lesson, Mordred. Caring is weakness. It means you get _hurt_. Your loyalty should lie with me only, and mine only with you. Understood?’ 

‘Yes, Mother’ the child said, suddenly solemn. 

Morgana allowed herself a small smile as she and her son walked away from the little wooden house at the edge of the forest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, Morgana was King Arthur's half-sister and the true heir to the throne, who was banished due to being Fey and a woman. It's one of my favorite characters in literature and mythology. Mordred was the son she had with Arthur, and whom she groomed to hate his betraying father and be unbreakably loyal to her. Who said foreshadowing? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
